


The Fallen Prince

by Elleh



Series: Prince For Knight [5]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (sort of), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Demon King Oikawa - Freeform, Hate Sex, Knight Iwaizumi, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Reunion Sex, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-27 04:49:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16211753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleh/pseuds/Elleh
Summary: Iwaizumi has come to kill him.Not even in his deepest, most mental fantasies would Tooru believe this was possible, but here they are. Fighting to death.Well. Iwaizumi is fighting to death. Tooru's just dying.





	The Fallen Prince

**Author's Note:**

> And!! Here we are!! With a follow-up for Prince For Knight. To be fair I do feel there's a piece missing in between this one and the Prince Without Knight one, but well. I hope you can enjoy it anyway, (and maybe I'll post some small pieces to summarize the span of time between these two fics).
> 
> It's supposed to be hate-sex but I don't really know how hate-sex works with iwaoi, sorry.
> 
> Also, this has been super duper inspired by Nekokat's art (all their [iwaoi FHQ](http://nekokat42.tumblr.com/tagged/final+haikyuu+quest))

Iwaizumi has come to kill him.

Not even in his deepest, most mental fantasies would Tooru believe this was possible, but here they are. Fighting to death.

Well. Iwaizumi _is_ fighting to death. Tooru is just dying.

The fight has taken over Tooru’s castle. It’s chaos. There’s blood and fire and steel clashing and so much pain one can smell it in the air.

Iwaizumi kicks him out of the way, unbalancing his senses. Tooru falls on his side and groans, the wound bleeding on his hand. His blood is warm and thick, almost black when Tooru looks at it, tainting the floor fast, fast, fast. Dizziness kicks in, and Tooru has to press his lips and stop breathing to keep the nauseas at bay.

There’s no way he’s going to heal with how spent his magic is, with how heavy and hazed his mind is. Spells are a blur in his memory, and when Tooru tries to murmure them, only nonsense leaves his lips.

Shit, he’s doomed. Iwaizumi wields his sword and breaks a demon in half, then another, and another. The world is falling apart, burning Tooru’s home, everything Tooru has owned on the last centuries, to ashes.

And he is next, if Iwaizumi’s confident strides have anything to do with it.

Tooru thinks of pleading, but there’s something beautiful and poetic about dying at the hands of his knight, now fighting for a greater good. Tooru’s insides burn, with magic and fever, but the only thing he can focus on it’s on how happy he is to see Iwaizumi again. Alive.

“Tooru.” His name sounds as heavy as the world ending, thunder and lighting and hate, hate, hate.

Gods, Tooru’s chest contracts when Iwaizumi stops, so close his heavy breathing is louder than the building crashing around them.

“Hi, Iwa-chan.”

The sword is smooth when it raises, no shake or indecision when its end points at Tooru’s chest. Iwaizumi’s expression is grave, shadows in his eyes, a tight, pissed line on his lips.

There’s murder in his stance, and Tooru can’t help but mourn the life they will never share again.

“What the fuck have you done.”

“The list is pretty long,” Tooru wheezes. If the wound on his side isn’t covered soon, he will die of blood loss before Iwaizumi has time to end him. “Wanna sit? I can make… tea,” he tries a smile but the bloody cough breaks the spell of his words.

The sword is still between them, even and immutable. Tooru might have sold his soul to bring him back, but that means nothing when Iwaizumi gave his freely for what he believed was right.

Iwaizumi’s gaze shifts. Tooru wants to bring his arms up and hide, but he’s too weak to do anything except groan.

“What are those?” The sword moves too, following the path of Iwaizumi’s gaze. Tooru sees it lift where his horns flash in his hair and does nothing to cover his shame.

“Horns.”

“What the fuck, Tooru.”

It’s so full of meaning and sorrow and regret. Iwaizumi understands, even when his eyes aren’t yet full of what Tooru has spent lifetimes trying to bring back. Iwaizumi remembers, but only half. He doesn’t recall the sacrifices and the nightmares. He knows nothing of the costs.

“Just do it,” Tooru growls — _begs—._ “Kill me and be done with it.”

Screams, yelling and orders come from behind Iwaizumi. The knight in his shining armor, ready to give a final blow to the evil, evil demon king and end this nightmare once and for all. Tooru relishes the moment, the tasteless blood in his mouth, the sight of Iwaizumi, _Hajime,_ alive and back and breathing. At least Tooru will have the certainty he managed to fulfill his promise, when death finally drags him down to Hell.

But Iwaizumi doesn’t move. His sword doesn’t flinch. His eyes never leave Tooru in his pathetic bloody deathbed. The others are still calling for him, _The building is about to collapse, Iwaizumi! We have to leave_ now!, but Iwaizumi doesn’t leave, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t move. He stares at Tooru as if his eyes were the true weapons, daggers in their hate, and for a second Tooru’s sure his dead heart stops when he answers Iwaizumi’s glare.

“Just— Do it. They want you to.” _You want to_. Tooru doesn’t word that bit but Iwaizumi hadn’t been — _is—_ his other half for nothing. Rage shapes his lips, baring his teeth, showing Tooru the long sharp canines coming back to life has provided him with.

A growl, red flashing eyes. The sword isn’t as steady anymore.

Tooru waits, —for the sword to fall, for Iwaizumi’s voice to break the little strength Tooru has left.

When the silence is his only answer, Tooru’s patience finds its end.

“What are you here for, then?”

“You know why,” Iwaizumi says, but there’s confusion in his gaze, fear in the way his grip changes to accommodate the long claws now holding his sword. “You…”

Tooru can’t hear his next words, for a grip of magic closes around his heart and _squeezes_. Squeezes so hard a normal heart would have exploded under its strength. Tooru groans and arches his back, his neck about to crack, trying to get away from an attack that’s coming from within. A hand pokes his insides, looking for weaknesses. Tooru tries to fight back, he tries with the little magic he has left, with the little blood still running thick and black through his veins, but it’s pointless. Their magician is healthy, woundless, and has an infinite source of energy.

Tooru can die. Being the demon king has never been about immortality. But gods, if he has to die today, please, let it be at the hands of Iwaizumi, who deserves to give him the final blow more than anyone else.

“Stop!”

It takes Tooru two breaths to understand Iwaizumi is grabbing his shoulder, yelling at his back. There’s a loud sound filling his ears, a dripping feeling in his insides. It’s as if his heart has been crushed and its pieces are now falling everywhere.

Iwaizumi yells again, “Stop it, I said!”

The hand vanishes. Tooru wheezes a breath in.

“We came to kill him,” a small voice says from behind. “Let me—“

“No! I’ll do it. Get out of here. I’ll find you once is done.”

“Iwaizumi…”

“Go!”

The back of the building crumbles as soon as Iwaizumi’s order leaves his lips, as if his will has commanded it to. Tooru looks at him, standing and bloody, claws and fangs breaking the image of his steeled stance. A god in all his glory. Tooru could drink from his image for centuries.

“Iwa-chan…”

“Stand up, we have to go.”

Tooru moans, pain traveling through his body in every direction the second Iwaizumi grabs him. The magician hasn’t done permanent damage, but his insides are upside down, the wound still spilling out blood and blood and blood.

“It’s pointless,” Tooru tells him even when Iwaizumi puts his arm around his shoulder and drags him away. “I’m dying. The wound—“

“Just shut up!”

Tooru shuts up because he has no more strength to argue. His head is a mist of pain and misworded spells and memories of Iwaizumi then, of Iwaizumi now. Tooru has the words on his tongue already, _I missed you so much, I can’t believe you are here again, I am so sorry, Hajime, I am so sorry for everything. I love you, I love you, I love you_. But death grabs his truths and holds them tight in his throat, denying him even that little relief.

Not even a weightless death does he deserve. The demon king, forever cursed to wear his shame on his ropes, his crimes on his horns. His black, rotten heart, silenced forever in his doomed cave.

“Walk, goddammit.”

“I am,” Tooru mumbles, although he’s not sure his legs are working any longer. “Hajime, I’m dying. Leave me here and go.”

“I fucking told you to shut up. If you don’t have anything useful to say, don’t speak.”

“But I—˝

A wall crumbles right on their side, a cloud of dust and dirt embracing them, throwing them into a momentary darkness. Tooru stops moving. Iwaizumi walks forward, wielding his will as he does his shield. As if with the sheer strength of his muscles he could not only save Tooru’s body, but Tooru’s doomed soul as well.

Tooru chokes on his words. _You can’t save the cursed demon of this story, Hajime. Don’t be the predictable knight in shining armor_. But blood has overtaken his mouth, and tears might be blurring his vision, and would the truth of Tooru’s fate help any of them? Iwaizumi isn’t known for his pliable nature.

It isn’t a surprise when they make it out of Tooru’s castle, now a flame of rage and death in the midst of Tooru’s cursed forest. Iwaizumi is breathing heavily, his arm steel on Tooru’s middle. The fire shadows half his face and enlightens the other and Tooru can’t tear his gaze away from him.

A vengeful god. A warrior of long gone pasts, of Hell, of nightmares and dreams.

The tears have little to do with the smoke and the bleeding wound. Tooru’s head falls forward, his lip between his teeth. Victory shouldn’t feel this helpless, this heavy, this wrong. He’s supposed to be happy that Hajime is back and alive, but his chest swells with despair, and when he tries to breathe in, a wheezing sound of horror leaves Tooru’s lips.

“Stand,” Iwaizumi growls, tightening his grip. Tooru shakes like a doll. “Stop it. You are not allowed to die yet.”

Those words echo in Tooru’s memory, and thoughtless, he laughs the dryest laugh.

“I wish it were that easy.”

It takes Iwaizumi three seconds to understand, because his memory hasn’t still caught up with the hundreds of years gap between his death and his rebirth. Three seconds of absolute silence that breaks when Iwaizumi curses under his breath, a single _fuck_ , and steps away as if Tooru had just pinched him.

Tooru goes to his knees. It’s amazing he hasn’t passed out yet, for there’s a small pool around his hands and legs as black as his soul.

“The same brute I know and cherish,” Tooru mumbles.

“What the f— Tooru. What have you done?”

The question is different this time. Charged. Meaningful. There’s fear in Iwaizumi’s voice and a tremble on his hands. The claws are retracting and expanding with every breath he takes.

“What had to be done.”

“You fool! I died. I— I remember being dead.” Tooru remembers it too. The long years of agony, the longing, the absolute loneliness. “The tent. The… the battle. I remember you…”

The fire cracking takes over Iwaizumi’s words. Tooru can’t bring himself to look at him. Guilt has no place in this story. Guilt had made Tooru fight a battle he won when he’d meant to die. Guilt had shaped his decisions till the concept had vanished, turned, evolved. Kings had little to no room for guilt.

Demon kings had none at all.

“Tooru. Please tell me you didn’t do this for me. Please, please tell me you didn’t annihilate your whole country for _this_!” Iwaizumi gestures at himself, his claws the mirror of what Iwaizumi has become.

“If you want me to lie to you, Iwa-chan, I will.”

The growl is not human. It’s raged and pained and long, almost a howl at its end. A song of sadness and loss that could break Tooru’s heart, but that only makes his ears bleed. He closes his eyes. The sound is harder in his body than any magic, any swords, any physical pain he’s ever endured, and the next time Iwaizumi speaks it’s in two voices, a reminder of what Tooru has not only done to himself, but to every single person he’s ever loved.

“ _How could you!_ How could you make me— make what we had— into this… this awful, vile thing!”

“It was easy, really,” Tooru lies, calm and composed. It’s hard to tell he’s breaking into pieces by how neutral his expression is. “Dark magic was not a difficult trick to master.”

“Stop that nonsense. Stop it I say!” Tooru’s arms shake, or maybe it’s the Earth, shivering under Iwaizumi’s hurt. “Look at me, Tooru. Look at me and explain how the fuck did you manage to become _this_.”

Tooru has a smug reply ready, a sneer shaping his lips. Iwaizumi doesn’t need to know. The consequences of Tooru’s actions are enough weight on his broad shoulders. Tooru doesn’t intend to say anything more than meaningless lies.

But the blood loss must have taken its toll, for the second Tooru opens his mouth to answer, the only thing that falls free are his deepest truth.

“You died.” Tooru doesn’t recognize the small voice he speaks with. “You were the only real thing in my world, Hajime. And you died.”

“Don’t put this on me. I did what I had to do. I fought for you, for your kingdom, for _our_ people.”

“You are not listening.”

“Oh, I am listening alright. You couldn’t stay without your puppet so you destroyed everything I fought for and _then_ decided to bring me back so I could stare at it and regret every choice I ever made!”

Tooru was wrong. Iwaizumi’s eyes aren’t the weapons that will kill him. His words are. Tooru doesn’t dare ask, _Every choice you ever made… is that me?_ , because he knows too well the answer to that.

“Then,” Tooru says, small and shaky, “do it. Kill me. Kill the scary demon king and be done with it.”

Iwaizumi stares at him and says nothing. The intensity of his silence speaks volumes, but Tooru doesn’t dare step on it. The shift of Iwaizumi’s body has been going on and off for a while now. Another wrong word and Tooru won’t be able to keep him sane.

“You don’t deserve to die,” he finally says and something awful and glorious fills Tooru’s empty insides. “I won’t live this torture you’ve created for me while you _rest_.”

“ _Rest_ might be too nice a word.”

“Stop joking!”

“I’m not,” but Tooru throws the smile away, and tries to cover his wound in a haze. “I’m a demon. I don’t think I have an inch of soul left. Soulless beings don’t have the luxury of _resting_.”

“I won’t pity you.”

Tooru believes him. Pity is such a waste. Iwaizumi would never spend his energy and sanity in something so fruitless.

“What are you gonna do, then? Didn’t you come here to end the demon king?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then. You shouldn’t disappoint your expecting comrades.”

“I told you already. I won’t kill you.”

“Cut the crap, Hajime,” Tooru snaps, feed up with this nonsense, with Iwaizumi’s scared glare, with this mess of joy and terror cooking in his chest. “You’ve never backed down from a mission before. Why now?”

“It wasn’t supposed to be you!” Iwaizumi’s eyes gleam in red, his words shaped in his lips in the bleeding marks of his fangs. Tooru can’t tear his eyes away from his blood. “I thought… there were rumors, but how could they be true? It’s been centuries since I— Since we— It wasn’t supposed to be you.”

Something breaks in Tooru’s chest. It comes out as a sob, as a raged punch to the ground. The blood coming from his mouth is ashes in his tongue, the yearning sound of Hajime’s pain poisoning his already fading life. The relief of knowing Hajime is here, —alive, and whole, and still holding to his conscience,— vanishes together with the sounds coming from Tooru’s mouth.

“I am so sorry,” he words, but he’s breaking so loudly they barely take form. Hajime watches him, sword on his grip. He hasn’t let go, the same way Tooru could never let him go, no matter how much time passes.

“Stand up. We have to go.” There’s a shake in his voice. “Do you hear me? We have to—”

“I _can’t_. Hajime, I can’t. I’m dying. Don’t you see? You fulfilled your destiny. You killed the demon king.”

“Not _yet_. Not until you fix this. You fix…”

Hajime growls, a heavy rumble in his chest. Tooru closes his eyes and shivers, relishing the sound, hating it. There are no more complains when Hajime puts his arm around Tooru and lifts him. No complaints and no words and nothing else beyond Hajime’s body becoming what it should have never been, and Tooru’s, losing itself to this cursed land of his.

  
  
  


Hajime heals Tooru. He mends his wound, feeds him, gives him magic in the shape of his blood. Every exchange comes with a groaned, _I won’t let you die. You deserve to suffer together with me. I will make you regret every decision you ever made, Tooru. Every single one of them_.

Tooru doesn’t tell him, _Iwa-chan, my sweet idiot. I could never regret you_ . He doesn’t say, _I feel the care you touch me with, I see your fear when my blood taints your fingers, I hear, I hear, I hear, Hajime._

 _And I love you too_.

  
  
  


It takes three days for Tooru to heal completely. Just three stupid days for his skin to close and his blood to restore itself. Three days with Hajime, sharing a charged silence only broken by Hajime’s growls.

There hasn’t been any more shifting. The second strength came back into Tooru’s blood flow he’d made sure to take away the heavyweight from Hajime’s shoulders. It’s a temporary remedy, and if Hajime’s pressed too hard he will snap right back into it. But for now his body is calmer, and Tooru can breathe without the choking guilt of seeing him living the curse he’s cast upon him.

If only that guilt didn’t come together with the biggest of pride. Every time Tooru’s eyes fall on Hajime’s body— _alive and breathing and fighting and here_ — a shred of light crosses him, head to toes, and he has to hold the urge to jump and dance a victory dance.

Hajime notices, though. Of course, he notices.

“We are leaving.”

“What? Where?”

“Away from here. They will search for me and for your— for you when I don’t come back. I can’t—” Hajime groans and tears his gaze away. A flicker of red. His nails become black and Tooru’s heart stutters. “Not until you fix this.”

“There’s no fixing,” Tooru says, clear and loud and proud. Hajime’s not happy to hear that. “This is not a cure or a spell or whatever you think this is. You were reborn, Hajime. You came anew into this world.”

Hajime doesn’t answer Tooru’s gaze. He doesn’t move, he doesn’t breathe. He has become a master in pretending he’s frozen in time, the illusion of not existing making the truths of his reality more bearable.

“Stand. We’re going. Now.”

Tooru doesn’t say anything else, but he brushes Hajime’s hand with his and breathes a relieved breath when the claws become nails once again.

  
  


The magician is searching. Tooru’s skin prickles every time the wave of magic beats around them, an invisible force that has Hajime growling deep in his chest. There are fangs in his mouth, paws in his hands. Tooru’s strong, but not enough to hide them both from magic while containing Hajime’s true form.

“What’s happening to me?” Hajime groans, a snout enlarging his face.

The words are bitter in Tooru’s tongue, when he mutters, _You’re becoming who you truly are_. Hajime groans, and then whimpers, and at the sound of bones breaking and flesh tearing apart, Tooru locks his gaze on the woods and murmurs, _It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay_.

It’s not okay. At the sound of Hajime’s loud and long and sorrowed howl, Tooru hides his face on the crock of his elbow. The song of his wounded, lonely animal pierces his brain, his soulless heart, his empty chest. Tooru’s eyes don’t move, but he doesn’t need to look at his side to feel the enormous black wolf, singing again.

Its heat warms Tooru’s arm, it fires Tooru’s magic. Hajime howls again, high pitched and sad, and Tooru’s arm stops shaking, and the magician’s search spell stops working. Tooru stares at his hand, awe and resignation mixing weirdly in his stomach.

Of course. Of course it’d end like this. He should have predicted it, but Tooru hadn’t planned on living this long.

A wet nose sniffles at his neck. Tooru can’t resist the urge of leaning his head against the big head of his wolf, hand still directed to the front of them both, protective. The wolf snuggles at his shoulder.

“I know. I know. It’s okay. You are okay, Hajime. I won’t let you lose yourself to it, okay? Okay?” The green shining eyes of the wolf study him, a gleam of fear and rage and sadness turning them orange. “I promise. I won’t let you become a monster.” _Like me_.

Hajime’s wolf eyes glare at him, smelling his truths and his emotions. Tooru has no strength to cover them. After some beats of his erratic heart, the wolf lays on the ground, paws crossed, and rests its head atop them.

Tooru breathes in and closes his eyes.

He says, “Okay. Okay.”

Hajime growls as if in agreement.

And meanwhile Tooru’s magic _clicks_. And settles. And covers them like an invisible mantle.

Tooru has to hold the urge to cry.

  
  


Hajime doesn’t shift back.

 

 

Desperation takes Tooru back to his former, long gone castle. The foundations still stand, and so do some of the walls, some of the memories. Tooru hasn’t stepped in its surroundings for almost hundreds of years, but time can’t erase everything.

It surely doesn’t erase the memory in Hajime’s wolf mind. Tooru’s some paces ahead of him, and yet, as soon as they enter the perimeter of what had once been the castle of a prosperous kingdom, now an unrecognizable wreckage, Hajime’s rage flares like a lantern.

Tooru stops, and waits. Hope is making his blood run fast and thick. Maybe it is that easy, reversing Hajime’s curse. Maybe Tooru was right, and the opposite of love is indeed anger.

But Hajime only growls, long and threatening. A wolf the size of a horse would have anyone else running away in fear, but as soon as Tooru looks back at him and sees the disappointment and hurt in its gaze, the only thing he wants to do is fall to his knees.

“Let’s go inside.” Hajime bares his fangs. Tooru shakes his head. “Come on. If my magic can’t turn you back, maybe this will.”

Hajime’s hate fills the air, charging it. It’s fool when Tooru inhales, and if Hajime were a bit more magic than he already is, it’d probably burn down Tooru’s insides.

If only. On the three weeks Hajime has been stuck in his wolf form, not even once has Tooru found himself at the doors of death. Hated, sure. Despised, pretty much every day. But some part of Hajime’s conscience might have been on control, for not even once have his fangs touched Tooru in nothing else but a warning.

They walk some meters apart, Hajime’s paws cleaning away the dust not even centuries could clean. Tooru made sure this place would forever stay cursed, and cursed still is, an exact replica of the day Tooru had walked away from it after destroying every wall and every piece of goodness in it.

Tooru enters first, because his soul is broken and empty, and memories have little to no power over him. A part of his brain grimaces at the little reaction in him, but what can one do, when his heart is in the wolf, a few paces behind? Tooru’s nostalgia hasn’t been attached to this place in as long as Hajime’d been gone.

He walks further in, and Hajime’s forced to follow suit. The second his paws touch the floor of the castle, a shake overtakes him, a long, pained growl, followed by a whimper. Tooru can’t look at him.

“If we go inside, you’d probably have a bigger reaction. If I’m right, you will—˝

Teeth close on Tooru’s hand. They draw blood, but Tooru knows Hajime means no real harm. There’s desperation in his eyes, when Tooru finally dares to look back at him.

“Does it hurt?” Hajime nods. “Shifting will hurt, Hajime. But staying as you are isn’t an option. If you stay as a wolf for much longer, you won’t be able to turn back into a human, even with my help.”

What help? Tooru’s the one who’s cursed him, he’s the one who couldn’t stop the shift, who couldn’t bring him back for three weeks. Those thoughts are gleaming in Hajime’s eyes, and Tooru’s not sure if they are a mirror of his own, or Hajime’s entirely.

“Come on.”

Hajime doesn’t let go of his hand. The further they walk, the stronger his grip becomes, and by the time they make it to the wrecked throne room, Tooru’s hand is bleeding onto the floor and into Hajime’s system.

Tooru stares around, at the destruction he knows he created here, but that he’s having trouble remembering. The air chokes him. Flashes of magic, and horned shadows, and darkness and darkness and darkness are all around him, blinding him, confusing his senses. Tooru’s on the present, and suddenly he’s on the past, and then on the present, and maybe even the future, and back to the past. He sees the throne room, he sees his father and his death, his first war and his last. He sees blood and anger and demons and loss. It’s everywhere, shaped into the stones, dirtying the floor and the remaining wood of a chair he’d been so proud to call his.

This shouldn’t happen. Tooru has numbed himself to emotions during long years of self-torture and cared craft. Memories should be a set of images to recall, not to feel.

But he’s feeling. Oh, isn’t he feeling.

“Tooru.”

And maybe that’s why. Tooru stares at the long-gone throne he sat on once, and lets a warm breath caress his neck. It’d be easy for Hajime to kill him. If Tooru had ever had one weakness, it’s him. Don’t mind immortality. Tooru’s body was born to die at Hajime’s hand, at Hajime’s bite.

But the half shifted wolf doesn’t bite his artery, although his snout is there, ready to rip off his shoulder. No. Hajime inhales Tooru’s scent and then sighs, and the next second there’s not a snout but a human face pressed against Tooru’s neck.

Tooru closes his eyes.

He wouldn’t mind feeling this, only this, for the rest of eternity.

Hajime’s weight falls on his back, and they stay like that, connected by dread and sorrow for the longest of moments. Tooru’s throat closes, and his chest constricts. He hasn’t dared dream of touching Hajime like this, so easy and so simple. The deal had never contemplated having a breath of relief, and yet here Hajime is, angry and pained and relying on Tooru’s strength to keep him standing.

It doesn’t last, of course. Tooru doesn’t deserve it to last.

“How could you do this?” Hajime asks, husky and raw. Tooru swallows the memories of his voice and his touch before he can answer him.

“I had to get rid of my roots. I couldn’t keep growing while this place still existed.”

Hajime steps back, and Tooru opens his eyes. He can’t turn around just yet, but Hajime has never let Tooru stay away from confrontation. Tooru breathes in when Hajime walks in front of him, and he breathes again, just to take him in.

A long coat of black fur is covering his shoulders and his back, half his chest and down his legs. The same fur Tooru has been touching here and there for three weeks, and that’s inherently Hajime’s.

“That’s not what I meant.”

No, but Tooru has already answered that question and Hajime isn’t more ready now than he was the first time.

“I did what I had to do. End of the story.”

“End of the story? Fuck your _end of the story_ , Tooru. Does this feel finished to you? Look at me! Look at this place. Look at _you_.”

Tooru’s magic cracks and lights. There’s a sneer in his lips when he says, “ _You_ were supposed to finish me, Hajime, but you chickened out. Me being alive is on you, not me.”

Hajime stares at him in disbelief for a long second. Tooru’s waiting for the punch, the strength of Hajime’s new body a deserved punishment. But his green eyes are steady and intense, and if he’s planning on hitting Tooru, there’s nothing in them.

“That’s it, then?” Hajime asks, small and contained. “You walk me in here, see the power this place has both on me _and_ you, and brush it off like that?”

“What do you want from me, Hajime? I thought we’d already cleared this up. I’m the evil demon king, you are the mighty knight resurrected to destroy me. I fulfilled my destiny. It’s time you fulfill yours.”

Hajime steps closer. He smells of wet fur, of ozone, of magic and power.

“But it’s not really that easy, is it?”

“Yes, it is.”

Tooru wants to touch him. Gods, he’s been dreaming for centuries about Hajime being alive and being close and looking at him exactly the way Hajime’s looking at him right now. Tooru hasn’t realized how weighing being a hated, despised evil king is until now that Hajime’s hate isn’t the only emotion tainting his glare.

“Try again.”

“Fuck you.” Tooru steps back and turns around, because he’s cursed and he’s evil, and evil things don’t deserve the luxury of anything good. “What do you need to hate me completely? Isn’t it enough I cursed you and destroyed the land you died protecting? What do you want, for me to show you exactly how evil I am? Great. Then, follow me.”

Tooru storms out of the throne room. He’s burning up, his nails are long and black, his eyes probably as red as Hajime’s are in his foolest mood. There’s an itch on his horns, a prickling on the back of his neck. Tooru knows the signs, he’s been feeding them for decades, perfecting his craft to the point of no return.

But there’s no way to put it out, now, no grand spell or big goal to focus his magic onto. Tooru’s immortality and Tooru’s magic have been carved to bring Hajime back, but once done, he’s as lost as he was when he’d held Hajime’s hand and watched him die.

A wheeze leaves his lips, the memory a hit to his chest. Fuck this cursed place. Tooru had put in it every little piece of humanity he’d left and he’d buried it all together with Hajime.

But now Hajime’s not underground anymore, nor are his emotions, nor his humanity.

“Where are you going?”

Tooru doesn’t answer. He walks through the castle, through the empty kitchens, destroyed beyond recognition; to the soldiers' posts, to the hundreds of roofless rooms, to every space he can recall existing in here.

Hajime follows him in silence, taking the annihilation of his home with horrifying control. Tooru’s waiting for the shoe to fall, for the wolf to come at him and rip Tooru into pieces, but the further they walk, the quiet Hajime gets.

They are almost to the back of the castle, close to the stairs Hajime used to climb to get to Tooru’s chambers. The memory is sour. Tooru would have loved to have a life in which that stair meant the best of his days, but now it only glorifies their tragedy.

“What are you trying to accomplish, Tooru?”

“Isn’t seeing this enough? Aren’t my horns?”

It’s small and quiet, a question more fitted for a scared kid than an evil king.

Hajime takes a long second to answer.

“All of this, —the castle, your horns, what you’ve become… It appalls me.” Tooru flinches at the brutal honesty. It’s impressive how much an inexistent heart can hurt. “But so does this.” Hajime caresses the fur covering his body, and the pain in Tooru’s chest morphs into pure, white rage.

“No. _You_ deserve to live. You are not this,” Tooru points at the castle, “or this,” he gestures at his horns. Hajime’s watching him with a blank stare, and desperate, Tooru closes the distance between them. “Your life is worthy of existing. _You are_ worthy of existing. It’s not on you how this came to be,—it’s on me. _I am_ the evil demon king. Look at the proof!”

But Hajime’s not looking anywhere else. He’s staring back at Tooru, that silent way he’s always had. Hajime says the most when he says nothing, and Tooru wants to scream in joy and utter despair at the sight of him.

“If you let me live,” Tooru mutters, “you’ll curse yourself. I know who you are, Hajime. You are rightful and honorable and letting an evil monster roam free would destroy you.”

“I _am_ an evil monster now, too.”

“No, you are _not_. Hajime, listen to me—˝

Tooru chokes on his words when Hajime, frown in place, cups his neck. It’s thoughtful and careful, as if Hajime’s expecting the touch to burn them both. It doesn’t. Tooru’s nerves flare into life, his blood singing in all the tunes he hasn’t heard since Hajime’s life ended.

There’s no way to know what Hajime’s feeling, if he’s feeling anything at all, with how controlled his expression is.

“You feel the same,” Hajime whispers, lost in thought. Tooru’s so still he’s sure he could break if Hajime dared hit him. “You feel warm and pliant.”

“Hajime, you don’t want—˝

Hajime’s eyes shine in red. “Don’t tell me what I want. You’ve done enough of that.”

Tooru swallows, and nods.

Slowly, Hajime’s touch starts again. First his thumb, drawing circles around Tooru’s artery. Then his other fingers, burying themselves in Tooru’s hair. It’s the same touch, and yet it’s completely different. The warmth of Hajime’s body’s different, the feel of his claws is different, the electricity between two magic beings is different.

“Hajime, I—”

“I shouldn’t want you,” Hajime says, probably to himself.

Still, Tooru answers, “No, you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t want me at all.”

“But, Tooru.” And Hajime’s looking at him, he’s drinking him in reds and greens and oranges, and Tooru wants to whimper at the power of his gaze. “I want you. I’ve wanted you since I saw you, and I’ve wanted you all the times in between. I’m just not sure if I want to have you, or devour you.”

It’s a warning. Tooru looks back at Hajime for a long, tense second, before his shaky hand finds Hajime’s wrist and holds onto it.

“Do whatever you want, Hajime. I might be the one who brought you back, but that only means that I’m yours, not the other way around.”

Hajime stills, and nods, and before Tooru has time to say anything else, Hajime’s there, everywhere, his nose brushing his, his eyes filling his world. Tooru’s fingers close harder on Hajime’s wrist, cutting his skin.

“I’m not gonna be nice.”

And he isn’t. The second his hungry mouth crashes against Tooru’s, the soft touch of his fingers vanishes, replaced by a heavy grip, and an even heavier kiss.

Tooru can taste the desperation in his lips, the rage in his tongue. His arms move of their own volition, surrounding Hajime’s neck, closing the small remaining distance between their bodies.

It’s feverish and dreamlike. Hajime growls deep in his chest, and in answer Tooru jumps and hugs his hips with his legs. Hajime’s claws draw blood, in his neck and in his ass, where he grabs Tooru and pushes him against himself.

Tooru sucks at Hajime’s lower lip. It tastes of blood and prickling magic.

“Hajime, I—”

Hajime bites Tooru’s neck, and Tooru’s words become a long, pained moan. Their cocks are aligned, Hajime’s naked and gleaming on top of Tooru’s pants. Tooru uses Hajime’s grip to rock against him, and Hajime’s teeth go deeper.

“Fuck, Hajime. You feel so—” _real_. The pain and the pleasure and the burning presence of him.

“I wanna fuck you.”

Tooru takes a hold of his fur and grinds against his cock again.

“Do it.”

Hajime goes back to his mouth, though, and Tooru lets himself be kissed and kissed and bitten and kissed again. Hajime licks his mouth and sucks on his tongue and chews on his lips, and Tooru’s only thought is to hold onto him for dear life.

They are both panting by the time Tooru starts fighting with Hajime’s fur.

“What are you doing?”

“Can you take this thing _off_?”

Hajime rolls his eyes and shakes his shoulders. The fur slides down his body, a show of slow falling pelt and tight, hard skin. Tooru licks his lips.

“Nice trick.”

That earns him another bite on his neck, and Tooru moans as his legs close tighter around Hajime’s body. The feel of his cock makes Tooru’s mind blow, with pleasure and memories, and it doesn’t take Hajime much longer before he has Tooru on the ground, clothes being ripped off.

Hajime’s hands stop at his pants, Tooru’s long coat already on the ground. The hard shape of Tooru’s cock is visible through the fabric. Hajime touches him only once, and then his hands roam lower.

“What’s with the boots?”

“They are evil and fashion.”

“They are ridiculous.”

Tooru buckles his hips and pouts when Hajime just keeps staring. “Just take them _off_.”

Hajime’s smile is dangerous. It sends an amazing shiver down Tooru’s spine.

“I don’t think so.”

So the boots stay, and by the time Tooru’s pants are finally together with his coat, his cock is stiff and leaking, ready for Hajime’s touch, who’s too busy leaving on Tooru’s neck a mess of red marks and wet patches to pay any attention to it.

“Hajime, touch—”

Tooru whimpers at the touch of Hajime’s fangs on his collarbone, down his chest. When he bites down on Tooru’s nipple, hard, Tooru’s hips buckle, unbidden, making their cocks slide against each other. Hajime bites again, and again Tooru’s body meets Hajime’s in a sinuous, maddening clash.

“Oh, gods, those teeth…˝

“I’m planning on using them all over you.”

Tooru nods, or maybe he just shakes uncontrollably from head to toes because Hajime’s biting again, his claws drawing red lines on Tooru’s sides, around his cock. The thrill of danger makes Tooru’s blood boil.

“Hajime, you feel so—”

A sudden pull, a forceful turn around, and Tooru finds himself with his nose buried in Hajime’s fur, keeping him from the cold stones, ass pointing up. A soft movement behind, and then…

“Hajime!”

Fangs on one’s ass is an experience Tooru has never contemplated before, and one that blows his mind. Hajime, keeping his promise, is everything but nice, pushing his fangs pass the border of skin, painting the back of Tooru’s legs with rivers of his own blood. It’s sore and painful and glorious.

“These boots are horrid.”

“They are amazing, shut u _up, fuck_.” Hajime’s cock slides between his asscheeks, its head brushing Tooru’s balls every time he rocks forward. Tooru’s hands grip the fur, his hips bucking back and forth. “Hajime, fuck me already.”

A burning hand falls on Tooru’s ass and squeezes, hard. The claws break skin and make Tooru bleed, tearing a long scream from his mouth. Hajime chuckles and squeezes again. Tooru’s breathless, moving his hips in a futile attempt to make Hajime’s cock enter him, but to no avail.

“Your skin is paler than I remember.”

“It’s magic. Its toll.”

Hajime’s hand caresses a path from Tooru’s ass to his lower back and up, a sharp claw touching every one of his vertebras. Tooru trembles at the care of his hand, and shakes violently when Hajime’s hand finds his nape, the back of his head, his horn.

The way he grips it should be scary and painful, but it only makes Tooru’s cock jump to full attention. Hajime pulls from it, coercing Tooru’s back to arch, forcing Tooru to his elbows.

A cold breath near his ear, and then, “I’m gonna ride you like the animal you’ve made me, and you are gonna take it all, and you are gonna enjoy it.”

Tooru whimpers, the nerves on his horn aflame. Hajime’s grip could break it in half. _Hajime_ could break Tooru in half. It’s a thought to consider, but when Hajime’s other hand follows the lines of Tooru’s naked skin and comes back to his ass, the only thing left in Tooru’s mind is the prospect of having Hajime inside of him again.

Another pull to his horn. Tooru moans loudly, and Hajime’s cock slides through the hollow between his asscheeks, teasing Tooru’s entrance.

“Hajime…”

“Don’t stop saying my name, Tooru. Not until I fuck it out of you.”

Hajime thrusts then, hard. He gets inside Tooru easy enough, given Tooru hasn’t had a cock in him for centuries and yet, just as this cursed castle, Tooru’s body remembers Hajime as if it were the only story ever told. Tooru cries silently, the pain rapidly becoming pleasure as soon as Hajime’s deep in him, still.

Tooru’s breathless. He wants to order him to _move_ but words have been kicked out of his system.

Hajime pulls from his horn, hard, and Tooru goes to his hands. Hajime’s cock moves inside of him at that, and Tooru whines loud and long and needy. The hand on his ass clenches, and claws are now in him too, deep and possessive.

“Tooru, I’m…”

That’s Tooru’s only warning. Hajime glides out of Tooru and slides back inside, thrusting as hard as his muscles allow him, never letting go of Tooru’s horn or of Tooru’s ass. He drills with maddening speed, taking Tooru to a realm of pleasure he’d have never known without the pain of his bruised skin and stiffen back. He tries to scream, to moan, to encourage Hajime in his unstoppable fever, but as soon as he opens his mouth, Hajime pulls from his horn, keeping the words in his body.

“You feel so good, Tooru, fuck, I’m gonna…”

Tooru grips the fur, clenches his body around Hajime, lets himself be fucked to a realm where magic’s just a concept. Hajime’s close, the way his grips lose control and precision telling Tooru as much. He thrusts, and bends forward, driving his cock so deep in Tooru whimpers and shudders.

“Tooru, I lo—”

Hajime bites down on Tooru’s shoulder, so hard it’s as if he’s trying to reach Tooru’s deepest vein. His hips stutter, his tongue drawing lines around the holes his teeth have just created. Tooru moans and rocks against Hajime in mindless desperation. He’s full to his core, and yet there’s something missing. A dazed part of his brain can fill the gaps of what Hajime has buried in his skin with his bite, and Tooru has the confusing thought he won’t be able to come if he doesn’t hear those stupid words.

“Hajime. I can’t come. Make me come.”

Hajime reigns his pace, mouth locked on Tooru’s skin. He’s breathing hard against Tooru’s nape, the low moans in his throat a vibration against Tooru’s back. It creates a perfect rhythm for Hajime’s hips, the thrusts longer and harder and so, so, so deep Tooru doesn’t want this to ever end.

“Ah, fuck, Hajime, fuck, you feel so good, I’ve missed you so much, oh, shit, oh shit, touch me more, Hajime, fuck me harder. I love you.”

Hajime can’t stop Tooru from saying that, nor can he stop the reaction it has on his body. Impossibly, Tooru feels him getting bigger and harder inside of him, ripping a long moan from his throat. The pain bares the unbearable, and yet, as soon as Hajime starts drilling in him with careless hits, Tooru’s right on the edge of his orgasm, a single touch from coming.

“Hajime! Hajime, I need—”

Tooru comes as soon as Hajime strokes him, making Tooru spill all over his hand and fur. He comes and comes, exhausted and sore, but his body doesn’t seem to get the memo. For as long as Hajime fucks him with intent, searching for his own release, Tooru can’t stop.

“ _Oh, fuck, Hajime!_ I can’t bear this anymore, just come, _fuck.”_  Hajime, the little shit, strokes Tooru’s cock again and again and again, his mouth biting down on him and licking his blood. Tooru’s so oversensitive he has tears running down his cheeks, whimpers and moans and pleas on his mouth Hajime ignores, still fucking him so hard it’s a miracle Tooru hasn’t broken in two.

“Tooru, I’m…”

With a final thrust, Hajime growls loud and deep in his chest, a vibration that makes Tooru’s insides shake. He shudders on top of him, the warmth of him coming inside and pulling out a scar in Tooru’s memory.

Hajime’s hand still holds Tooru’s horn when they both fall, worn out and dead tired, on top of Hajime’s fur and Tooru’s cum. Hajime’s nose is close to where his mouth has made a beautiful map of bites and bruises, close enough to Tooru’s face their noses brush when Tooru turns his head around to look at him.

“You’re crushing me.”

“Shut up, I’m gonna move in a second.”

His cheeks are red and alive, sweat on his brows and temples. Hajime has his eyes closed, and Tooru doesn’t need to ask to know his reason. Still, it doesn’t stop Tooru from reaching forward, brushing their lips together in the lightest caress they’ve shared so far. Hajime frowns, and Tooru kisses him again, as soft as before.

“Have you forgotten how to _kiss_ during all this time?”

“Ha, of course not!” Tooru kisses his lips and then his nose and then his eyes, first the left, then the right. Hajime’s frown is deeper now. “See? I know how to kiss you, my sweet brute.”

Hajime stirs. His hand lets go of Tooru’s horn, but he doesn’t move much further. He breathes in, so deeply the earth shakes.

Tooru also shakes when Hajime opens his eyes, green and lively and as beautiful as the first day Tooru had seen them.

“Hello, you.”

“You said you love me,” Hajime says, straight to the point.

Tooru licks his lips, suddenly dry. He needs a long second before finding his voice.

“I’ve loved you for a very long time.”

“I thought— Of course I thought you did, what with bringing me back to life and all of that, but I… I guess I never truly believed it.”

A lump the size of a mountain gets stuck in Tooru’s throat, and as much as he tries to swallow it down, it stays put, choking him.

“I do love you very much, Hajime.” His voice is small and tender. “I loved you when you died, and I love you now. Many things might have changed, but that will never do.”

Hajime inhales, shakily. His eyes drink from Tooru as if his words could cure every ill on the world. “This shouldn’t change a thing, but it does. I don’t know what that makes me.”

“What do you mean?”

Hajime rolls to the side, taking his weight and his heat away from Tooru. He stares at the sky, visible through the holes on the ceiling. Clouds move in fast speed, a fascinating sight if one takes Hajime’s attention into account. Tooru doesn’t look up, he can’t tear his gaze away from Hajime’s moving chest.

“I mean,” he finally says, still watching the sky, “I planned on doing some autodestructive shit, you know?”

“I know,” Tooru mutters. “I figured as much.”

“Of course you did. You always outsmarted me.”

“That’s not true.” Tooru stares at him, counts to three and thinks _fuck it_ before he wriggles closer to Hajime’s side. Hajime doesn’t bother looking at him, but as soon as they are skin to skin, Hajime lifts his arm, making space for Tooru’s body.

When Hajime hugs him closer to his chest, the world stops, and Tooru’s dead heart beats for the first time in centuries.

He says, “I want you to live, Hajime. If there’s someone in this world who deserves to live, it’s you.”

Hajime’s hold tightens, claws scraping on Tooru’s arm.

“I’m afraid if I live a life without you in it, it won’t take long before I become what you became without me.”

What a foolish idea. Tooru kisses Hajime’s chest, snuggles closer to his heat, and against his heart, he whispers a promise, maybe even a spell, “You are the strongest man I know, Hajime. If I were to die, you’d live a fullest, honest, righteous life, and you’d change lives for the better, and you’d be the hero of the story. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about.”

“Does that mean you are planning on dying soon?”

Tooru looks up at Hajime, but Hajime’s still staring at the sky, unable to confront the possibility of Tooru’s death.

Tooru sniffs softly. “Not really, no. Now that you are not set on killing me, I’d rather try and see how an honest life feels like.”

Tooru doesn’t tell Hajime the only one who can kill Tooru is him, anyway. No point on adding another burden to the ones Hajime has been collecting by himself. Instead, Tooru kisses him again and closes his eyes, and starts planning on how to turn an evil demon king into a regular demon king.

It shouldn’t be too hard. After all, Tooru has now a mighty beast ready to kick his ass if he diverts too much from the right path.

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> WHO KNOWS, maybe Tooru will become a nice demon king.
> 
> [THIS](http://nekokat42.tumblr.com/post/170842449312/sweet-reunions-making-up-for-the-lost#notes) is Nekokat's specific piece that has inspired the porn.
> 
> You can find me [here](https://negare-boshi.tumblr.com/)


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